Late Night Delivery
by ghostgirl19
Summary: My eyes took in our new surroundings. There were small, wooden barracks scattered around, yet not a soul was in sight. Understandable, it had to be late in the night.


With my head still partially down, I scanned the other poor chaps who have been taken as prisoners.

Prisoner. I'm a bloody Prisoner of War to Germany.

Sometimes you hear stories of how men go into shock after being captured; they can't believe they're out of the war so they go crackers. I, on the other hand, haven't.

Don't get me wrong, it's still shocking to be captured. I mean, one minute I'm gunning down a Kraut, then the next thing I know, I'm on the ground with ten of them surrounding me.

Another reason of why some men go crazy is their attachment to their families. Although my family is fairly large, what with nine siblings and a father, the only one I'm really close to is my younger sister, Mavis.

Mum died a couple years ago, and Pop is spending his days (and money) drinking booze. I like a drink now and then meself, but he takes it too far. I like my other brothers and sisters, however they've scattered all over England. Therefore, I hardly ever see them or talk to them. Mavis was the only one to stay close, in fact, we shared an apartment back in England. I don't mind, I'll always protect her.

A sinking feeling pooled in my gut.

Mavis.

Oh, God. How am I gonna take care of her now? She has a job, but it doesn't pay that well. My RAF pay mostly got us through with the rent.

She has no one; I won't be able to see her again for God knows how long.

Is this what going into shock feels like?

This bleedin' war. Damned war!

A sudden jolt caused by a bump in the road brought me out of my thought-filled

frustration. Everyone in the truck briefly surveyed the other, then let down their heads again to stare at their feet.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one having irritated thoughts. I looked to the shorter man sitting next to me, who was mumbling angrily under his breath.

Squinting my eyes, since it was so dark that a bloke could hardly see his hand in front of him, I looked at his left arm. On his jacket sleeve, was the insignia of France.

That would explain the foreign words coming out of his mouth.

I knew some French. Not so much as to be able to hold a conversation, but I knew some of the basics.

"Quel est votre nom?" _What is your name? _ I asked, the sentence sounding weird to my English ears. But I had no idea if this bloke spoke a word of my language, so I'd resort to what little French I knew to try to communicate with him.

His head turned to look up at me, eyebrows raised. "Louis LeBeau. Vous parlez Français?" _You speak French?_

I smiled sheepishly, "Un peu seulement." _Only a little. _"Parlez-vous Anglais?" _Do you speak English?_

The man grinned, "un peu seulement. What is your name?"

Now it was my turn to grin, "Peter Newkirk."

I didn't notice that the car had stopped. The two guards rose from their seats at the back, drawing their rifles. Suddenly, they started barking at us in German.

For a few seconds, nobody moved. It was obvious that no one knew a single word of German except for the ruddy phrase, "heil Hitler."

When it was understood that there'd be no response, the guards angrily made toward us. My eyes narrowed as my jaw clenched. I hated rules, but I hated even more to be pushed around.

However, resisting wouldn't make anything better. In fact, it'd make it a whole lot bloody worse; I might even get shot. Then I'd never see Mavis again.

So, I complied, and let them push me, along with the rest of us, towards the back aka the exit. I guess they were telling us to get out of the truck, I did notice they said what sounded like 'raus' a lot. I guessed that was the German word for 'out.'

The cold air was like a slap to the face. Trying to stay warmer, I flipped up the collar of my greatcoat. Good thing I was wearing that and my gloves when I was shot down.

My eyes took in our new surroundings. There were small, wooden barracks scattered around, yet not a soul was in sight. Understandable, it had to be late in the night.

A rather large, older man walked up to us then, saluting the guards who quickly returned it. From his uniform, I could tell he was a Sergeant, probably the Sergeant of the Guard.

He was pretty loud as well, but didn't speak a word of English, so I had no clue on what he was saying.

Once all seven of us were out, the guards started nudging our small group with their guns towards another building, only this one seemed a bit bigger and more well-kept. There was a large sign on the front of it, by the front entryway.

_Kommandantur_

I'm about to see the bloke who runs this bleedin' camp. Charming.

We made our way inside, the sudden light making us all wince. When my eyes readjusted, I noticed a pretty bird sitting at a desk. She had blonde hair that was pulled back into two, small braids, blue eyes, and red lips that were curved into a small smile. Smirking, I gave her a wink.

Her grin widened.

The large Sergeant from before smiled as he made his way over to her desk. "The prisoners are here, Fraulein Helga."

Helga smiled, "I will let the Kommandant know." Standing, she walked over to a door that had the words 'Col. Wilhelm Klink' then below that was 'Kommandant.'

After knocking twice, a muffled voice rang out. "Yes, yes, what is it?"

"The prisoners are here, Herr Kommandant."

"Send them in!"

Glancing down, I finally noticed LeBeau at my right side. He gave me a brief smile before we trudged into the office.

A man was seated at a desk, which was cluttered with paperwork and other various things. The thing that stood out most was a black helmet with a golden point at the top. I almost laughed at the mental image of this bloke wearing it.

Because really, he didn't look like a war hero or anything like that at all. He was mostly bald, save for some hair that was slicked down on the back of his head. I guessed he was in his forties. He also had a monocle over his left eye. Again, I held back a laugh. I always thought the toffs back in England looked ridiculous wearing those, but this bloke takes the cake.

Judging by his uniform, I concluded that he was a Colonel.

"Congradulations, gentlemen," he smirked, "you are all prisoners of the glorious Fatherland. Now, you can all watch us win the war up close."

I clenched my teeth. The other men shifted into stiffer stances, I noticed LeBeau cross his arms as he began growling under his breath again in French.

"Now," Klink went on, "let's get started. I want your names, ranks, and serial numbers."

A few men went up, giving exactly that information, and then it was my turn.

"State your name, soldier."

"Uh, Newkirk, sir. Peter Newkirk."

"Rank."

"Corporal, sir."

"Serial number?"

I gave that to him as well, then it was LeBeau's turn. I found out he too was a Corporal.

After everyone gave their information, Klink told us that we'd be questioned in the morning, for it was already too late in the night for this prisoner delivery and he was too tired. He hurriedly gave us our barrack assignments.

Me and LeBeau both ended up getting assigned to Barracks 2, while the other men were spread out among the camp. But first, we had to go to the delousing station. Smashing.

However, just before leaving, my eyes caught sight of a large, black safe behind Klink's desk. I grinned, knowing immediately that I could crack it in seconds if it ever came down to it.

After a rather uncomfortable delousing (not that I had lice, mind you. I gotta keep meself clean for the birds), me and LeBeau were guided to our barracks by the rotund Sergeant. He didn't say anything all the way there, until we entered our new living quarters.

Flicking on the light, he started calling out to the prisoners to wake up. Only, they weren't yet ready to go easy on him.

"Do you know what time it is, Schultz? I need my beauty sleep!"

"Aw, come on, Schultz! This better not be another inspection!"

"Get me up when roll call is over!"

"Achtung!" Schultz yelled. I could tell it meant 'attention.' "These are two of the new prisoners, they're going to be staying in this barracks. Get them situated, and then it's lights out again! Roll call will still be at the usual time!"

Everyone groaned while Schultz made his exit.

When the door closed, everyone stared at me and LeBeau. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"Uh...'ello," I greeted awkwardly.

The men didn't respond.

"Alright, alright. What's going on here?" A man asked, coming out of another room. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Two new prisoners arrived, sir," someone replied.

"This late? What kind of a war is this, waking people in the middle of the night?" he asked sarcastically in an accent I didn't recognize.

He turned to me and LeBeau, "well, what's your names?"

"Newkirk, sir."

He nodded, inclining his head in LeBeau's direction. "And you?"

"LeBeau, _Sergent._"

"Hmm, so an Englishman and a Frenchman, eh?" he chuckled, "I'm Sergeant Michaud of the Royal Canadian Air Force, and I'm Senior POW officer. Looks like you'll be staying with us. Men, show them their bunks; I'm going back to bed. If you need me, come get me." He turned, going back to his room, when he stopped in the doorway. "Don't need me," he added, although he winked to show that he was teasing.

As soon as the door closed, a smile came to my face as I saw one of our airmen rise up out of a bunk across the room and walk to us.

"I'm Corporal Mason, I'll show you your bunks."

I didn't have to go very far, since he put me in the top bunk right by the door. LeBeau on the top bunk next to mind, on the window's other side. Mason quickly shut the light back off and went back to his own bunk.

Shrugging off my greatcoat, I hung it from the bedpost. Next, I removed my uniform jacket, placing that on top of the greatcoat. I took off my hat as well, flattening it and fitting it inside one of the straps of the jacket. Finally, I took off my boots, then climbed on top of the bunk.

It wasn't comfortable, in fact it didn't even have a pillow. But I'd have to make do, it's not like I had a choice.

Until I escape, that is.

I glanced over at Louis LeBeau, whose back was turned away from me. It looked like he was already sleeping, judging by the steady rising and falling of his shoulders.

From what little we interacted, he seems like a nice enough bloke.

Maybe I'd take him with me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'd like to thank Guest, Sgt. Moffitt, Abracadebra, SaraiEsq, EJ3, LittleMissSpitfire, Atarah Derek, NickTonyK, and snooky-9093 for reading and reviewing my first story. You all made me feel very welcome and I was really happy that I got reviews, along with constructive criticism that wasn't mean at all. Thank you :)**

**At first, I intended for this to be a oneshot, even though I know that I left a mini-cliffhanger at the end. I was only aiming to tell of what happened when Newkirk arrived at Stalag 13. But, if anyone likes this and wants more, I could turn this into a full story including the arrivals of Kinch, Hogan, Olsen, and Carter. Possibly even Minsk, who was only in 'The Informer.' I know his actor changed his mind about being in the show, but I found myself to be curious about what happened to his character, along with Carter's change in rank.**

**Reviews are appreciated, along with constructive criticism, as long as it isn't mean. I hope you enjoyed this! :)**


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